


In the Box

by David Hines (hradzka)



Category: Manimal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hradzka/pseuds/David%20Hines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped by smugglers, Jonathan and Ty face a defining moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anne_Animouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Animouse/gifts).



There was a voice in Ty Earl's ear.  It was fuzzy, and far away, but it wouldn't shut up.  "Ty," it was saying.  "Ty, Ty, Ty."

Ty opened his eyes, and wished he hadn't.  

It would have been better if he'd just opened his eyes to see something unpleasant.    He didn't see much of anything.  The act was bad enough by itself.  Just opening his eyes made his head spin alarmingly.  He battled back the nausea, but found it rapidly taking second place to the third or fourth worst headache he'd ever had in his life, and considering some of the nights he'd spent in Saigon, that was saying something.  

There was something cold underneath him, so Ty rested his cheek on that, and groaned.  He tried to bring a hand up to rub his head, but his hand didn't move.  It was caught on something.  He tugged a little harder and felt his other hand moving with it.  There was something on his wrist, and Ty tried to touch it, as best he could, with his fingertips: it was a rough strip of cloth, wrapped about both his wrists, and tied.  He tried to push himself to a better position with his toes, to get some weight off his upper body so he could work on the knots, but the effort made his head throb even worse than before, and his feet weren't working too well, probably because his ankles had been tied together, too.

"Ohhh," said Ty.  "This was one of _those_ nights."

"Ty?" said the voice again.  "You're awake?"

"Yes, Jonathan," Ty said.  "I'm Ty.  And I'm awake."  He winced.  "Ow, man, my _head…_ "

"It could be a concussion," said Jonathan.  "Stay awake. Don't go to sleep."

Ty would have rolled his eyes if the beginnings of the motion hadn't threatened to jar his brain loose from his skull.  "I know that, Jonathan," said Ty.  "I've hit my head a couple of times before.  Thank you."  

"I'm sorry, Ty," said Jonathan.  He sounded like he meant it.  That wasn't good news.  Ty was happier when Jonathan's apologies were polite, if insincere, things Jonathan got out of the way so Jonathan could get back to being in charge.  Long experience had taught Ty that when Dr. Jonathan Chase apologized, and meant it, things were generally very bad.  

"Okay," said Ty.  He risked taking some deeper breaths.  The pain seemed to be getting a little better.  The cold of the whatever-it-was Ty was lying on was refreshing.  He risked turning his head enough to press his cheek more firmly against the whatever-it-was, and felt something bump against his forehead, too.  Cautiously, he bent his knees and moved his feet back and forth.  He hit Jonathan, but hit something else, too, and kept hitting it all the way along.  "…what?" Ty said, more to himself than Jonathan.

"Yes," said Jonathan.  "I was just getting around to that."

"Are we in a coffin?"  Ty was more annoyed than surprised.  When you worked with Jonathan, you came to expect these things.  Along with pretty much everything else, starting with a buddy who could turn into pretty much any animal he wanted and did so whenever it would be useful.  Which was surprisingly often.

"It's not a coffin," said Jonathan.  He paused.  "Per se."

"Are we in…" Ty probed experimentally with a toe.  "…a box?  Feels like steel."

"Yes.  Very good."

Ty gritted his teeth.  "Chime in any time, man."

"It's a welded steel box," said Jonathan.  "About a yard, a yard and a half on either side.  There's an air slot at the head end, perhaps an inch and a half wide."

"That's someth-- hey!"  The box lurched.  For a split-second, Ty thought, truck?, but he'd had more than his share of rough truck rides during the war.  The down motion's jar wasn't as brutally bone-jarring as the upward force had promised --  "J.C.," said Ty, "are we on a _boat?_ "

Jonathan didn't say anything.

"The Russian smugglers got us, didn't they."

"They hit you rather hard."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that."   Ty's head was still pounding, but the worst of the fog had lifted.  "All right," he said.  "All right.  What's going on?"

"I don't know yet.  I've been trying to make sure you were alive."

"Come on, J.C., we've got an air slot an inch and a half wide.  That's plenty of room for you to do the snake thing."

"You don't like the snake."  

"I know I don't like the snake.  I don't like the snake, Brooke doesn't like the snake, you're the only person likes the damn snake.  But right now, we need the snake."  

"Fair enough.  Give me a moment."

Ty closed his eyes.  Behind him, he could hear Jonathan's deepening breaths.  He could feel Jonathan moving, too; that would be his hands, the fingers gripping the air as if they were reaching for something.  Next the hands would curl into not-quite fists, and the skin would start to ripple and bulge.  Even though Jonathan's shape-changing had saved his life more than once that was usually the point where Ty couldn't stand to look any more.  

Behind Ty, Jonathan's breathing roughened, coming in short gasps.  His back arched, pressed against Ty's, contorted.  Ty had asked, once, if the transformations hurt.  Jonathan had just smiled and said, "Well, it's not exactly comfortable," like he was talking about an armchair or something.  Which Ty figured meant that it was uncomfortable as a sonofabitch.

The breathing became quieter.  The pressure on Ty's back and legs eased, as Jonathan's weight lessened, and then --

A thin hiss.

"Yeah," said Ty.  "Great.  We got the snake now.  That's good."  He hesitated.  "Jonathan, what're you --  hey!  My arm, man!  Now, I know you're not even thinking about -- "  Jonathan wound himself around Ty's forearm, moved up, towards the shoulder, pressing between arm and ribs.  "Dammit, that _tickles._   Quit it already.  Just… don't move for a minute, okay, J.C.?  J.C.?"

Jonathan didn't move.  He nestled into the space between Ty's arm and ribs, and stayed there.  "This is about heat, isn't it?" said Ty.  "Snakes're cold-blooded."  An alarming thought came to him.  "It's what, thirty degrees out there?  Hey, are you gonna be okay?"  

Jonathan slid around Ty's torso again, then made his way up to the air slot and slipped out.

The waiting was terrible.  Any of a million things could go wrong.  Jonathan could be seen coming out of the box.  Somebody could see the snake, kill it, catch it, step on it by accident.  If Jonathan could even keep functioning as a snake in thirty-degree weather, if he didn't get trapped somewhere on the boat, not able to get back to the box or to freedom, hiding while the cold numbed him, little by little, until he died.

It was nearly ten minutes before Jonathan came back, but it seemed like three times as long.  When he slipped through the slot, he made a beeline for Ty's neckline, and Ty let Jonathan slip down the collar and under his shirt.  Jonathan was ice-cold, and he was moving sluggishly.  Ty had seen those danger signs before, a time or two.  The cold of the snake's body made Ty shiver, but he held the snake against his stomach for a while, until it began to warm up enough that Jonathan could make it through the transformation.  Ty let Jonathan get a little underway before he lifted the shirt and let Jonathan go.  He could see a little of the change by the light from the air slot.  It wasn't nice to look at.  

"It's cold out there, Ty," said Jonathan, when he was done.  He was shivering, and his teeth were chattering.  Ty pressed up against him, trying to share as much warmth as he could -- "Hey, man.  Are you _naked?!"_

"Left the clothes here," said Jonathan.  "Couldn't concentrate enough -- " he shuddered again.  "Hang on.  I'll get you free."

"Free?"

"The ties, anyway."  Jonathan lowered his hands to Ty's wrists, clumsily untied them.  Ty reached out, gripped Jonathan's shoulder, and awkwardly rubbed Jonathan's goosefleshed arms.  "Thanks, Ty," said Jonathan.  "God.  God, I'm _cold --_ "

"All right," said Ty, "you've reconned.  What's going on?"

"They're going to throw us in the water," said Jonathan.  "They're taking us well out to sea and they're going to throw us in the water."

"Well, I'd kind of figured that.  I wondered why they even put an air slot in this thing…"

"You don't want to know."

Ty blinked.  "What, there's a reason?!"

"You don't want to know it, Ty -- "

" _Goddammit Jonathan I'm in this goddamn box too what in the hell is that thing if it's not a goddamn air slot?!_ "

After a brief hesitation, Jonathan said, "It's so the crabs can get in."

"No," Ty said.  He shook his head.  "No."

"I'm sorry, Ty --"

"No, no, no!  They're not just going to kill us, they want us to be _eaten?!_   What the hell, man?  What is with these people?"

Jonathan didn't say anything.

"All right," Ty said.  "That's out of my system, J.C.  Now I'm good."  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.  "So what's the plan?"  Jonathan didn't say anything.  "J.C., come on, man.  What's the plan?  Gonna bust out the panther on them, right?"  Still Jonathan said nothing.  "J.C.?" said Ty.  "What is it?  What aren't you telling me?"

"There's nowhere to hide," said Jonathan.  "Nowhere to escape to.  There are too many guards, they're too well-armed.  A few men, when there's room to move, to hide, I could -- but it's broad daylight.  There's nothing I can do.  Even if the panther could beat them, there's nowhere to hide for long enough to make the change.  I can't beat them, Ty."  Jonathan's voice trailed off.  "It's hopeless," he said.

Ty closed his eyes.  He took a deep breath before he opened them again to meet Jonathan's.  "You're saying we're gonna drown," he said.

Jonathan shook his head.  His long face was paler than usual, and his cheeks were hollow.  He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, and swallowed, before he opened his mouth again.  

Jonathan said, "I'm saying you are, Ty."

The words fell like lead.  

Ty wasn't sure what he'd heard, not at first, and then he was.  "What?"  Ty said.  "You're shitting me, J.C.  Tell me you're shitting me, please tell me you're shitting me."

"I can get out of this box.  That's all.  After that, all I can do is pray they don't find me."

"You don't need a big place to hide as the snake.  Hell, as the bird -- that's it!  You hide somewhere as the snake, then change straight into the bird, go fly around, look for help --"

"I can't.  I have to be human in between, or -- or something very bad will happen, and then I won't be able to help either of us."

"What, you'll be a snake-bird or something?  Hey, man, I don't care what you _look_ like --"

Jonathan said, "I could get _lost_ , Ty."

His tone was so unnerving that Ty was afraid to ask what that meant.  Whatever getting lost meant, Jonathan Chase was terrified of it.  And Jonathan didn't terrify.  "Getting lost is bad."

"I might not know what I'm supposed to be."

"Oh, that doesn't sound good."

"Ty, I wouldn't know I was supposed to save you, and if I did remember you were important to me I still wouldn't know what that meant or why.  It would be unspeakably dangerous.  For me.  For you."

"Worse than being thrown into the icy water?"

Jonathan shuddered.  "Very possibly."

"Jesus," Ty said.  "All right, well, get out of the box as the snake, turn back.  They'll catch you, throw you over the side, you turn into a dolphin -- "

"In freezing water?  You know how long the transformation takes, Ty.  And you'll still be in the box, and they'll still throw you in, and then what?  There's a padlock and chains on the outside of this.  What am I supposed to get them off with?  Sonar?  My personal charm?"

"All right!" yelled Ty.  "All right!"

They didn't say anything for several minutes.

Finally, Jonathan spoke again.  "My best idea so far was an octopus," he said.  His voice was eerily calm.  "Their bodies are compressible.  I could fit through that slot.  And if I had the tools, I could pick the lock."

"So maybe you could get me out of the box."

"If I had the tools, yes, I could get you out of the box, into the freezing water, with no boat, miles from shore."  

Ty said, "Shit."

"If it's any consolation, I don't think I could manage eight arms."

Ty laughed, short and sharp, then harder, and harder, until he couldn't stop.  Jonathan didn't laugh with him.

After a while, Ty said, "This is goodbye, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so.  I'm sorry, Ty."

"It's okay, man," said Ty.  "It's okay."  Jonathan's hand was gripping his now, and Ty squeezed back, as hard as he could.  "Look, you get out of this box, okay?  You don't think about me, don't try to bite anybody or pull that panther stunt, just go hide on this boat somewhere, and you hibernate or whatever snakes do, and when the weather changes or this boat goes somewhere like Bermuda, you get your ass off, find you an expensive suit, call Brooke so she knows what happened, and then turn into the panther and go rip some Russian smugglers to shreds for me, all right?"

"All right, Ty."

"And hire some damn salvage company," Ty said.  "Get me off the sea floor, man.  Get me away from the crabs.  It ain't much, but it's something, and I don't want to be eaten by crabs, okay?"

Jonathan nodded.  In the dim light from the -- from the slot, Ty could see Jonathan's eyes were glistening.  

"Anything else?" Jonathan said.

Ty was about to say, no, nothing, but then he thought of something, and almost laughed.  "Yeah," he said.  "One thing.  It's pretty stupid."

"Anything."

"Before you get out of here, go hide, hibernate -- would you turn into the panther?"

Jonathan blinked.  "Why?"

"I always liked the panther, man."

"I thought --"  Jonathan stopped.  He looked at Ty, met his eyes.  "All right," he said, softly.

Jonathan reached up with one hand, cupped Ty's face.  Locked his eyes on Ty's, and began to take deep breaths.  Ty felt the fingers on the side of his face stiffen.  This was the part where he always looked away.  He didn't, now.  

Johnathan's breathing became harsher.  A sweat broke out on his forehead, the skin of which began to bulge and ripple.  The color of the skin darkened, going from Jonathan's pale past Ty's own brown to a jet-black.  The shape of the features changed, the nose and lips altered, the ears lengthened.  A fine fur began to sprout, and longer whiskers emerged from the cheeks.  On Ty's face, the fingers curled, shortened, turned to claws, as the shape of the hand itself altered.  Ty kept very still.  He could feel the tension in Jonathan's body, the reshaping of flesh and blood and bone, and then the hand -- paw -- slipped away.

The panther curled up beside Ty.  It was warm, warmer than Jonathan had been, seemingly; Ty didn't know how that worked.  He looked into the face for any trace of Jonathan.  As always, he didn't see any.  

The panther's nostrils were flaring.  Its head turned back.  It smelled the blood from his head wound, Ty realized.  The panther stretched up -- its neck, Ty saw, was surprisingly long -- and licked gently at Ty's head.  The tongue was rough, like a housecat's but more so, but the panther had a careful touch and was gentle with the wound.  His head felt, Ty realized, a little better.  He lowered his hand to the panther's ribs and cautiously stroked the fur.  It was soft, but had an edge to it that he hadn't imagined; it looked like velvet, but didn't feel like it.  He could feel the muscles under the skin, and the hard outline of the ribs.  There was a strange rumbling, too, and he couldn't figure out whether he was feeling or hearing it before he realized it was both: Jonathan was purring.

They stayed that way for a while.  Then Ty nodded, and the transformation slowly reversed itself.  The panther was gone, and it was just Jonathan again, his flesh under Ty's hands, his hair tousled, his warm eyes filled with sadness and concern.  

They didn't say anything for a long minute, and finally Ty said, "Okay."

Jonathan leaned forward and embraced Ty.  Then he took deep breaths, and he was changing again, and this time Ty didn't open his eyes until scales were sliding over his hand and the snake was on its way out the narrow slot.

Ty rolled onto his back -- carefully; his head still hurt, and the box was whirling around him when he tried to move -- and waited.  

He wondered what it would be like to die.

Ty waited for so long that he almost didn't realize he wasn't alone.  Someone was talking to him -- or, rather, at him, through the narrow slot.  "Hello?" the voice said.  It was Russian-accented, and surprisingly friendly. "Dr. Chase?  Dr. Jonathan Chase?  Are you being sullen?"

"Dr. Jonathan Chase wants you to go fuck yourself," Ty said.  "Can I take a message?"

"Ah," said the voice.  "Mr. Earl, I presume?  I'd rather speak to Dr. Chase."

Ty said, "J.C.?"  After a pause, he said, "Neither of us are saying shit."

 "Then," said the Russian-accented voice, "a few last words?"

Ty didn't say anything.  He could hear activity in the background: men moving about, doors slamming.  Hatches being secured.  Jonathan was in the midst of all that, somewhere.  Hidden, in hibernation.  Safe.  Hopefully somewhere just warm enough, locked in for the winter.  That was what mattered.

When the Russians barked the order, and his buddies picked up the steel box and began moving toward the side, Ty began giving them all the last words he could think of.  He cursed them in English and pidgin Vietnamese, threw in a few vile phrases in Nepali Jonathan had taught him once, and even tossed in the meanest things he could remember from his high school German, which weren't very.  He cursed them as they shuffled slowly under the weight of the steel box, cursed them as they moved towards the cold water and the sea floor and the crabs.  Then they held their spot.  They must have been at the side.  Ty yelled some more, but then his voice broke, and so he didn't say anything else, just took a breath and held it, like maybe that would help somehow.

The steel box lurched to one side.  Then it fell.

* * *

The man who had spoken to Ty was named Yevgeny Ilyich Kuznetsov.  

He was forty-two years old, which was quite good for his line of work; he had a wife, of whom he saw as little as possible, and children, of whom he saw even less, when he could.  He spoke English very well, Ukranian fluently, and enough German to pick up vacationing backpackers, which he did as often as possible, because he liked German women.  He also spoke reasonably good Vietnamese, but had hated his time in that country and was doing his best to forget it.  His hobby, aside from occasional shipboard pets, was carving small pieces of wood into smaller model ships.  He was not particularly good at it, but it occupied his time.  

Kuznetsov's likes were few, and included his hobby, his animals, German women, and a good drink.  His dislikes were many, and included Americans, his own family, and Germans who weren't women.

And, had he but known it, the 7.62 mm rifle bullet that, in the next instant, would tear his head apart.

* * *

The steel box lurched to one side.  Then it fell.

It landed hard on the deck.  

Ty's head was cushioned by his arms, but it still exploded in agony from the drop.  After the initial haze of pain eased, he realized he could still breathe, and he wasn't sinking.  There was frantic yelling from outside, and at intervals came a thick, whistling buzz that Ty knew only too well.  He flattened himself into the bottom of the box just as a loud clang came and a fragment of steel bit into his leg.  Something dented the steel on the other side of the box and fell to the ground.  Ty felt it with his fingertips.  It was a bullet, and it was hot.  

More yells came from outside the box, and more shots, some of them originating from the boat Ty was on.  A few of the Russians seemed to be using the box as cover.  From what Ty could tell, it didn't help them much.

Not long afterward, silence fell.  Then there were thumps on the deck, and a rattling of the chain on the outside of the steel box.  There was a muffled _chunk_ of bolt cutters, and the chain fell off the box to either side.  Another _chunk_ , and it happened again.  The chain must have been looped around.  Finally, with a creak of hinges, the box opened, and Ty looked up into the face of Brooke Mackenzie.  

"Welcome to new frontiers in NYPD's interdepartmental cooperation," Brooke said cheerfully.  "Did you know the US Navy has snipers?"

"Yes!"

"I didn't.  They're really good, though."  She reached in a hand, and Ty took it.  He made it to a sitting position with her help, but it took a little more leverage from the men with her before Ty was out of the box and unsteadily on his feet beside it.  The box looked bigger on the outside.  Ty leaned on it to catch his breath.

"Hey, you all right, buddy?" said one of the men.  He was a jug-eared kid, with a thick Oklahoma accent.  "Sorry as hell about that one shot through the plate."

"Kid," Ty said, "you were shooting with a cold bore, from one boat to another, in freezing weather, with a rolling sea.  Maybe your buddies will razz you for that one, but I freakin' love you."

The kid laughed.  So did the others.  "Where's Jonathan?" said Brooke.  "Did he --"

Ty nodded.  "He's on the boat somewhere."

"We better find him quick," said the kid from Oklahoma.  "Boat took a few good ones.  She's taking on water.  You two get over onto the Navy's finest; we'll find your buddy."

Ty shot Brooke a look of alarm.  He shook his head.  "They won't find him," he said.

Brooke's eyes widened: she got it.  "We'll help you look," she said to the kid from Oklahoma.  "The more eyes, the better."

"No, ma'am.  This ship's sinking.  And the water's freezing.  Trust me, you get exposed to that water, you will go into hypothermia real damn quick.  You don't want that."

"Yeah, Brooke," said Ty.  He turned to the sailors.  "You guys better take care of her.  Get her onto the other boat quick.  I'll take next trip."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, my head hurts, but I'll be all right for a couple minutes."

The kid from Oklahoma turned to Brooke.  "Okay, miss," he said.  "Let's go."

"Just a minute," said Brooke.  She stepped forward to Ty, her eyes blazing with fury.  "Ty, you son of a --" she hissed.

"You think these macho boys will let you stay?" said Ty quietly.  "Even one minute?  Even if you fight, even if they have to cold-cock you and carry your ass off?"

Brooke glared at him.  Her jaw was set, and she shook her head a little from side to side, under tight control.  "I don't know who to be more pissed at," she said through gritted teeth.  "Them, or Jonathan, or you."

"I'd say me," Ty said.  "'cause I know better."

"You look like hell," Brooke said.  "Will you pass out if I slap you?"

"Probably."

"Then I'll save it for later," she said.  She cupped his face in one hand and kissed the corner of his mouth.  "Come back, so I can give it to you."

Ty nodded.

"All right, fellows," Brooke said, stepping back.  "Can you help me over?"

She turned on the charm, and it had the expected result: every single one of the small-town boys turned to her so they could outdo each other being chivalrous, and while they weren't looking Ty made for the nearest hatch, slipped inside, and secured it after himself.

* * *

The downside of having only been onboard the ship while unconscious and/or in a steel box was that Ty had no idea of the layout below decks, which meant he didn't have any idea where Jonathan might be.  He tried to think like a snake.  Jonathan would be looking to take in the limitations of his present body, so he'd be somewhere warm, and he wouldn't want to be found, which meant he'd be somewhere with a lot of nooks and crannies.  Taken together, that meant "engine room."

Ty made his way through the boat, opening and closing doors.  "Jonathan!" he yelled.  Maybe Jonathan wasn't too far into hibernation yet.  Maybe Jonathan would hear him.  Ty picked up a length of steel pipe he found, on the off chance that any of the Russians were hiding in wait.  If they were, he didn't see any.  

The ship was at a slight angle -- that must have been the water it was taking on -- and it was in disarray below decks, probably from the movement and the panic when the naval attack had started.  Ty glanced in one cabin, the door of which stood open; he saw what looked like a broken aquarium with a light over it, an upended table, ship models scattered over the floor.  The ship lurched suddenly, and Ty felt a renewed dizzy spell.  "Come on," he mumbled to himself.  "Gotta keep it together.  Gotta find Jonathan."

The engine room wasn't hard to find.  Finding a snake among the maze of pipes and parts, on the other hand -- Ty dropped to his knees.  "Jonathan!" he bellowed.  "Jonathan!"  He bent, craned his neck, and looked under a bit of shelving built into the wall, and saw a dark form, a snake, still and silent.  "Jonathan?" he said.

The ship creaked alarmingly, and a torrent of water gushed into the engine room.  The snake disappeared from view, and the chill of the water took the breath from Ty's lungs.  "No!" he shouted.  He steeled himself and stuck an arm under the shelf.  It was a tight fit; he had to almost lie in the water to reach.  He groped around frantically.  Nothing, nothing.  He thought about the water, thought about the direction of flow, then moved to the corner of the room and tried again.  The snake was there.  He plucked it from the water.  It was barely moving.  

Ty stuffed it into his shirt and made a break for the nearest hatch.  The snake was ice cold against his skin, and Ty wasn't sure that he felt any better to it.  The water was rising fast.  He powered through it -- it was over his ankles, now, his calves, rising fast to his knees, and oh hell the ship was tilting.  He reached the hatch and tried to open it. Nothing happened.  The water was rising faster.  Ty pounded desperately on the hatch.

"Hey!" yelled a voice from above.  It was the kid from Oklahoma, God bless him.  "It's stuck, we're gonna have to blow it.  Stand clear!"

Ty ducked clear.  He stuck his fingers in his ears and opened his mouth, to equalize the pressure from the blast.  When it came, it was better and worse than he'd feared: his ears rang like crazy, and the shock was dizzying, but he didn't go deaf or get knocked out and his headache wasn't much worse than it had been earlier.  He fought his way through the rising water -- like knives, it was like a million tiny knives -- and to the hatch, where the kid hauled him out and into the inflatable as the ship went down.  The kid shoved Ty into the bottom of the inflatable and covered him with blankets and started rubbing him, and even as Ty shivered with the worst cold he'd ever known in his life, he had to laugh, because he and Jonathan were alive.  The laughter lasted until he was most of the way to the boat, at which point his lungs gave out and he could just breathe, and shiver, and keep a hand on the snake in his shirt to make sure it was still there and moving.

* * *

"Ty?" said Brooke as he staggered, barely upright, through the cabin door.  "My God, are you all right?"

"Yeah," said Ty.  The warmth onboard was starting to work a miracle; he felt like something slightly better than dead.  "Yeah.  I got to the engine room.  I found -- " he stopped.

Jonathan Chase, seated in a comfortable chair, was wearing a white bathrobe embroidered with the ship's logo and drinking from a steaming mug of hot tea.  He was nodding his thanks to one of the sailors, who was screwing the cap back on a bottle of Scotch.  When he saw Ty, he turned his head to Ty and beamed.  "Hello, Ty," he said.  "Care for a cup?"

"Jonathan?" said Ty.  He blinked, doubting the evidence of his senses.  Then a cold realization began to slowly dawn.  "Then who the hell have I got in my shirt?"

Jonathan looked puzzled.  "In your shirt?" he said.

Ty leapt to his feet and tore open his shirt.  Frantically, he yanked the snake free and threw it across the room.  Brooke, who was even less fond of snakes than Ty, yelped.  So did the sailors, who scattered -- except for one, who actually brightened up in the split second before he pounced on it, like he was some kind of amateur herpetologist.  

Ty, struggling to get his heart rate under control, wheeled on Jonathan, who was disgustingly cheerful.  "Must be the captain's pet snake," Jonathan said.  "Probably made a beeline for the engine room when its cage was overturned during the boarding."

"How the hell was I supposed to know the captain had a damn pet snake?!" Ty demanded.

"It was in his Interpol file," said Jonathan helpfully.  

Ty glared at him.  "I want you to know," Ty said, "that I am heartily sick of this shit.  I'm sick of being the guy that shit happens to, just because I have the stupidity, the utter lack of sense, to be your goddamn friend.  I get stuff thrown at me, get beat up, get kidnapped, get pushed into your stupid indoor ornamental pond by a goddamned wolf-girl, and now I risk my own damn life to rescue a stupid damn snake -- " Ty was shouting now " -- while you get your ass off the ship somehow and I come back and find you having a cup of tea with a dopey-ass grin on your face because _Ty's being funny again_ , so _let's everybody laugh at Ty_.  Well, it ain't funny to me, J.C., and I am _tired_ of it.  Once, just once, just _one goddamn time_ , would it hurt your smug ass to say, 'Thank you, Ty?'"

Jonathan blinked.

Ty realized that the sailors were all staring at him.  Of course, they didn't know Jonathan was a shapeshifter, so they all thought Ty was nuts.  Brooke was staring, too, her mouth open, but Ty didn't pay any attention to her.  He stared at Jonathan, his gaze level, his face set.  Jonathan looked surprised, and then puzzled, and then, to Ty's amazement, embarrassed.

Jonathan lowered the mug.  "You're right, Ty," he said softly.  "I don't have any defense, because you're right.  I left you there, and you went back for me, anyway.  It isn't funny.  Thank you.  And I'm sorry.  I'm sorry for finding humor at your expense, when I shouldn't have been.  And I'm sorry for leaving you."

"I know you wouldn't have left me," Ty said.  "Not if you'd had a choice."  He shrugged.  "I had a choice, J.C."

"Thank you, Ty," said Jonathan.  He handed Ty the mug.  

* * *

"Well," said Jonathan, closing the newspaper.  "It looks as if the authorities have the smuggling ring neatly wrapped up."

"Good news, too," said Ty.  "I wasn't looking forward to going out there and getting locked in a box to get thrown to crabs again."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow.  He was dressed for home in what Ty referred to as his Hef look -- silk pajamas, monogrammed robe, and incredibly smug expression.  "I don't think you entirely hated your time in that box," he said.  "It had one or two redeeming moments, you seemed to think."

"Are you giving Ty shit again, Jonathan?" said Ty.  "I know you're not giving Ty shit again, because we've had our little discussion about this."

"For you, Ty?" said Jonathan.  "I'm a pussycat."  

Ty pointed a warning finger.

Brooke blinked at them.  "Is there something I'm missing?" she said.  "What happened while you guys were in that steel box?"

"Oh, no, Brooke," said Ty.  "You know that what happens in the box, stays in the box."

"Truer words were never spoken," said Jonathan.  "Well!  Now that this adventure's neatly concluded, I was thinking we might get some dinner.  Crab, perhaps?"

"Better we eat them than the other way round?" said Ty.

"Exactly my philosophy.  Seems a good way to cement our victory."

"Good," said Ty, as Jonathan ducked into the next room to change.  "I'm feeling like I could handle a case of crabs."  He paused, and glanced at Brooke.  "That came out not at all in the way that I intended."

"You mean you've got your full strength back," Brooke said.  "Does that mean you won't fall down if I slap you?"

"Hopefully," said Ty.  "But could you slap me after dinner?  I plan to drink a lot on J.C.'s tab, so I won't feel it nearly as much then."  He paused.  "I am sorry, Brooke," he said seriously.  "I played on some bullshit for the team, but I still played on some bullshit, and you had to take it.  That wasn't fair to you, and I'm sorry for that.  And thank you for taking it."

Brooke looked at him.  She nodded.  Then held out her hand.  They shook.

"You know," said Jonathan, as he emerged tugging on his dinner jacket, "there seems to be a lot of that going around.  It makes me wonder whether anybody's going to apologize to me or thank me for anything."

"No," Ty and Brooke said together.

Jonathan shrugged.  "Fair enough."  They glared at him.  "Oh, come on," he said.  "I'm Dr. Jonathan Chase: wealthy, young, handsome, heir to my father's legacy.  I turn into animals, I fight crime, I'm a doctor, and I'm a college professor.  Of course I'm an ass.  Sometimes literally."

"We know you're an ass, man," Ty said.  "We just want you to be a better ass."

"Better?" said Jonathan, turning away with a smug grin.  "Not possible."  He walked up the staircase, cheerfully tugging at the lapels of a custom-fitted suit that had probably cost almost as much as Ty's last car.

"No," said Brooke, looking after him.  "Definitely not possible."

"I heard that," Ty said, following her gaze.

Brooke looked at him.  Ty looked at her.  There was an awkward silence.

"Crabs?" Brooke said, her cheeks flushed.

"Yes," said Ty quickly.  "Crabs.  Crabs, definitely."


End file.
